


love potion no. 9

by dramaturgicallycorrect



Series: the great haroldini verse [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Magic, psychic wizard harry, wizard zayn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaturgicallycorrect/pseuds/dramaturgicallycorrect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He opens an incognito window on his computer and debates for a solid seven minutes whether he's actually going to do something about it. He doesn't actually think typing "how to stop falling in love with your neighbor who thinks you're just a mate" into google would actually yield something, but it does.</i><br/><br/><i>"Unlucky in love? Ready to settle down? Falling in love with your neighbor who thinks you're just a mate? The Great Haroldini can help," says the first website's tagline.</i><br/><br/><i>Seems legit. Liam clicks the link. </i><br/><br/>[Or Liam drinks a bottle of Love Potion No. 9]</p>
            </blockquote>





	love potion no. 9

**Author's Note:**

> "It'll be months before I can even think about writing another Lilo." - a lie spoken by me
> 
> From the song "Love Potion No. 9" by the Searchers, except the opposite because that song is actually rather terrifying.
> 
> As always, thanks to my lovely ladies for the beta. :D

If Liam has to listen to the sounds of his upstairs neighbors have sex one more time, he's actually going to lose it.

On some level, it actually sounds like they're in pain. Which is fine, you know, Liam isn't going to judge if they're into that kind of thing, but still. It doesn't sound like a pleasant experience. And honestly. It's 7 pm on a bloody Thursday. Have some respect.

Liam reaches back and knocks on the wall behind his bed and pauses. It's almost a minute before the returning knock comes from the other side. Liam can't fight the grin on his face. He slides out of his bed, carefully setting his laptop aside, leaves his flat, and takes the four steps down the hall to Louis’ door.

Louis opens the door just as Liam is about to knock. His neighbor Louis. Fittest bloke he’s ever seen Louis. Funnier than anyone on the telly Louis. Louis.

"It sounds louder tonight, doesn't it?" Louis asks, leaning against the doorframe. He looks soft and comfortable in his joggers and oversized shirt. This is sleepy Louis, which is Liam's favorite kind of Louis. There's workday Louis, who is sharp and brilliant and ruthless, which is an excellent Louis. There's a weekend Louis, who is fun and spontaneous and mischievous and maybe that's also Liam's favorite kind of Louis. They're all Liam's favorite kind of Louis. It's been a real problem.

"I think maybe they're trying to prove a point," Liam says.

"What point is that?" Louis scoffs. "That compared to them the rest of us are miserable celibate sods who should bow down to their sexual superiority?"

"That's the one," Liam says with a solemn nod, trying not to think about how celibate he's been since Louis moved in next door three months ago.

The walls are too thin for Liam to harbor any illusions about Louis sharing the same vow of celibacy. He brings people home from the clubs, which kills Liam even though he has no claim to lay on Louis. Sometimes Louis even invites him out, promises to show Liam a good time, but the last thing Liam thinks he can handle is seeing Louis on the pull.

"Cuppa and FIFA?" Louis says, shifting away from the door and walking into his flat without waiting to see if Liam even wants to follow. Like, of course Liam does, he always desperately does, it's a given. But Louis could ask, if only just to preserve some of Liam's dignity.

Just as Liam closes the door behind himself, the howling starts. That’s the only way Liam can think of to describe it. It’s kind of like a prolonged version of the sound a cat makes when you step on its tail, long and steady and very very high pitched. At least it means she’s close.

“God, but she has some pipes on her,” Louis remarks as he bustles around the kitchen to prep the teapot.

“Opera singer,” Liam guesses. It’s actually ridiculous how much of their time they spend talking about sex. He just wishes every once in a while it would be about them and not about the porno being shot upstairs. Not that he isn’t completely happy being Louis’ mate. He is. Totally happy.

“Maybe,” Louis allows. “But there’s no way that’s genuine. She’s faking it. Don’t think I’ve heard a single real orgasm the entire time I’ve lived here.”

The night they met -- Louis had just moved in the day before -- their upstairs neighbors were going at it pretty heavy, and Louis stomped down the hall to bang on Liam’s door. Liam opened it, bewildered at the sight of a complete stranger on his doorstep, standing barefoot and in his pajamas with two bottles of Guinness in his hands and a scowl on his face.

“Are they fucking serious right now?” Louis had said, pushing his way into Liam’s flat without permission. Liam had no choice but to gape after him and let it happen. “I’m your neighbor, by the way, Louis, and I start my very new and very important job very early tomorrow, but I can’t sleep a fucking wink, not even a wink, because someone’s in bloody heat.”

From then on it became a running joke, seeking comfort in each others’ presence every time their neighbors were fucking, until they slowly started hanging out because they felt like it. It was nice. Liam had been kind of lonely.

Not that he was like lonely lonely, it’s just, it’s hard when you graduate uni and all your friends go off to wherever they get their jobs and all you do is work and go to the gym and then pass out early every night without even managing to stay awake through an entire episode of Game of Thrones. He’s got work mates, sure, but none of them are more interesting than Louis.

He knows he’s never going to meet anyone this way. He’s never going to get over his massive crush. Or he won’t know what to do when Louis gets bored of him or worse, actually starts properly dating someone and can’t explain why the strange bloke from next door won’t stop coming over.

But it’s fine. Liam’s going to take what he can get while he can get it.

Accordingly, Liam spends all evening with Louis' feet thrown in his lap as he gets absolutely trounced at FIFA.

He gets so trounced it's actually almost not even fun to play, on a technical level. But the real fun is watching Louis have fun and the shit talking involved on both parties' part. The offer of a cuppa morphs into one beer, then seven beers and a tequila shot of all things, and that's when the night takes a real turn. There's laughing and shrieking and gloating and kicking and slapping and far too much drinking. It's all a very mature affair. And it's Liam's very favorite thing in the world.

Liam wakes up the next morning slumped on Louis' couch with his feet on the coffee table, a raging hangover, Louis' head in his lap, and his hand in Louis' hair.

"Ohhhh no," Liam whispers to himself because he's basically trapped and can't get away unseen. He's never spent the night at Louis' before, but it's cool. It's totally fine. They're just adult friends hanging out having an adult video game tournament that turned into an adult sleepover. Well. Not like an "adult sleepover" because Liam thinks that means something entirely different.

"Tommo," Liam says, scratching Louis' scalp gently. Louis makes a little sleepy noise and shifts in Liam's lap. Which is... very quickly about to become a problem. "Tommo," Liam says again and tugs on a tuft of Louis' hair.

"Fuck off," Louis snaps, his already gravely voice even rougher with sleep. He bats awkwardly at whatever he can reach of Liam's chest with his eyes closed and makes no other efforts to move.

Liam scrabbles for a reason other than potential arousal avoidance for disturbing Louis' slumber, looking dumbly around the flat for clues but finding none.

"I've got to go to work," Liam decides.

"Work is dumb," Louis mumbles.

"You also have to go to work."

"My position on work holds firm," he responds but he's already moving to get up. "My brain is fucking on fire." He doesn’t seem at all bothered by where he woke up, which is a small relief. But he probably hasn’t woken up enough to think about it.

Liam makes a sympathetic noise and rises, stretching his sore limbs and looking around sort of helplessly. "I'll, um, see you around?"

Louis' barely cracked his eyes open, like he probably thinks he can navigate his morning routine without the use of sight. "Yep," he chirps, blindly inching toward the bathroom. And... that's all he gets from Louis.

Not that he was necessarily expecting some sort of tender morning after or the offer of a shared breakfast -- admittedly, Liam ruined that last one by promptly putting his foot in his mouth as soon as he woke up -- but Liam sort of wishes there was a little more to it. But that's how Louis thinks of him. Liam is a mate. You don't share tender good mornings with mates.

Liam picks up his shoes and dusts his trousers off, and if anyone thinks he's stalling because he doesn't really want to leave, well. They're not entirely wrong. He shuffles to the door and opens it, but before he leaves, he takes another glance around the flat.

He finds Louis watching him, his head popped around the doorframe of the bathroom. His eyes are finally open all the way.

"What?" Liam asks because he doesn't think he's done anything wrong that would cause Louis to watch him closely.

"What what?" Louis says and for a moment he thinks Louis' cheeks are turning pink. "Why haven't you left yet?"

Liam jumps and walks into the door a little before he successfully maneuvers his way around it. He can hear Louis laughing from the other side.

Once Liam's safe on the other side of his flat's door, he sighs deeply, burying his head in his hands. Drunk Liam is such an idiot, a real fucking donut. Drunk Liam thinks it's a good idea to half cuddle with his equally drunk neighbor who probably now thinks Liam is a real weirdo.

"Goddamn it, Drunk Liam, get it together.”

\--

Staring at a spreadsheet on his computer all day under fluorescent lighting is actually doing nothing at all to stave off his massive headache. But worrying about whether he left things weird with Louis is actually worse than the headache.

They’re just mates. Really. He's going to jeopardize his entire friendship with Louis because he can't stop thinking about how nice it would be to wake up in bed curled around him instead of accidentally falling asleep on the couch.

Louis clearly has no interest in Liam beyond getting drunk and playing video games or trying to irritate their upstairs porno neighbors by playing the Stone Roses on Louis' stereo at full volume at three am. (Even though it bothers the entire complex and not just their neighbors, which Liam still feels bad about.) Besides. The only time Louis wants to put his hand on Liam's dick is to punch it. So there's not a heap of potential there anyway.

He opens an incognito window on his computer and debates for a solid seven minutes whether he's actually going to do something about it. He doesn't actually think typing "how to stop falling in love with your neighbor who thinks you're just a mate" into google would actually yield something, but it does.

"Unlucky in love? Ready to settle down? Falling in love with your neighbor who thinks you're just a mate? The Great Haroldini can help," says the first website's tagline.

Seems legit. Liam clicks the link.

The homepage is dark and mysterious looking, the main graphic an image of a man in a fedora shrouded in shadows and a cloud of smoke and his long, thin fingers clearly visibly circling a crystal ball. The caption says, "The Great Haroldini is a low-level psychic and Phase 2 Wizard." Whatever that means.

The site offers several solutions for the broken heart and the more Liam reads the more he is absolutely convinced he needs to go to this place and see this man who will solve all of his problems.

With the time it takes walking to the tube, taking the tube, walking to the Coven Tree, walking back to the tube, taking the tube again, and walking back into work, Liam calculates he only has about seventeen total minutes to spare in his lunch break for this psychic wizard bloke to set him on his way.

Coven Tree is actually like any other cozy shop in Notting Hill and nowhere near as mysterious as Liam thought it would be. The door is purple and the curtains are a deep crimson. The windows, covered in curly script, promise Palm Reading, Potions, and Puns. If Liam was at all nervous on his journey here, he feels all of his fear melt away as soon as he crosses the threshold, the light tinkling of a wind chime announcing his presence.

The first thing Liam notices in the waiting area is a massive tree that seems to sprout directly from the crimson carpet. The tree has long, spindly branches bare of leaves, but decorated instead by glass vials of varying sizes and shapes, small trinkets, and lightbulbs tied with string. He reaches out to tap a light bulb and it glows softly as it sways back and forth with the force of it.

"Whoa," Liam says, about to poke it again when a voice startles him away.

“I’m fucking tellin’ ya, Harry, it’s Nando’s or nothing else,” the voice from the back thunders, announcing the existence of the Irish lad before he actually appears from the back through the bead curtain. He’s wearing a velvet blazer that matches the carpet and the curtains, which Liam wouldn’t think would mesh well with his pasty complexion and blond hair, but it really does.

“Ah, fuck,” he says as soon as he notices Liam. That’s not exactly one of Liam’s favorite ways to be greeted.

“Hello, I’m looking for the Great Haroldini?” Liam says, shifting on his feet.

“Of course you are,” the bloke answers, his voice dropping into something deep and smooth. Liam hesitates at the change. “This way.”

He holds the bead curtain open for Liam and with a particularly fancy and expressive gesture, he beckons Liam through. The back room is dark, lit only by strategically placed lanterns and large candles.

“Please have a seat, the Great Haroldini will join you shortly,” the bloke says, bowing and gesturing for Liam to sit in a plush crimson chair, before shouting to the air. “I’m going for Nando’s, Haz, you’ve got a customer!”

“Patron!” a deep voice shouts back.

“Patron, right.” He looks to Liam and rolls his eyes dramatically. Liam smiles kindly in sympathy just before the bloke runs off.

Liam plops himself into the chair, which is exactly as comfortable as it looks, and glances around expectantly as he awaits the arrival of the Great Haroldini. He sees someone moving around in the shadows behind the only other chair in the room, separated from Liam by a cloth-draped round table with the crystal ball from the picture on his website. Purple vapors swim idly inside the crystal ball, drawing Liam’s attention until he thinks he’s been waiting a little too long.

“Hello?” Liam says.  
  
"Hello, Liam, I've been waiting for you," the shadowed man says, his voice also deep and smooth. It must be an aesthetic thing.

"I hope I haven't kept you long," Liam answers, frowning. And then he stops and thinks about how he’s just been called by his name, but he never gave it. Low-level psychic-ness? Psychopathy? Psychiatry? Whatever it is, Liam is impressed.

"No," he says, his hands flapping, "I didn't mean -- I meant like I knew you were coming. Not like you were late. It's like -- you know what? Nevermind."

He moves into view, the dim lighting causing the shadows from his fedora to obscure most of his face. He looks proper mysterious. Even if he sounds less than proper mysterious.

“I am the Great Haroldini, welcome,” he announces, taking the seat opposite Liam. He steeples his fingers with his elbows on the table and surveys Liam seriously.

“Hi,” Liam says. “I’m Liam, but you already knew that. And I’m having some, um, trouble. In the love department. I’m sure you already knew that too.”

“You’re looking for The One,” the Great Haroldini says sagely. “Your perfect match.”

“Yes. Pretty much.”

It sounds a little daunting, The One, like, he’s not even sure if he believes there’s just the one person per person, like, what if there are an odd number of people in the world? Or what if, like, his One Person lives in Thailand and he never goes to Thailand? Does that mean he’ll never meet them? What if Haroldini tells him to fly to Thailand? Liam doesn’t have that kind of money.

“Liam, please, will you give it a rest?” he interrupts, his voice strained, as he massages his temples. "The negativity is overwhelming."

“Ah. Sorry.” He zips his mouth shut and waits expectantly for instruction.

“I would like you to close your eyes, please,” he says, “and think about everything that makes up The One for you.”

Liam closes his eyes and thinks.

He’d like his one person to be in England, preferably. London would be better. He’d like them to be tall, but not taller than him. They would like to cuddle. They don’t mind staying at home and curling up on the sofa on weeknights and going out to all hours on the weekend. They’d want to go on roadtrips and roll all the windows down and sing along to the radio as loud as they can. They’d be impatient and challenging because they wouldn’t let Liam get set in his ways. They’d be kind, but not boring. Funny, but not mean. They’d be spontaneous and thoughtful and clever. They’d be a force of nature, louder and crazier than Liam, pushing him out of his comfort zone because he’s always too scared to try new things.

They’d be… Well. Louis.

“Shit,” Liam mumbles. He hadn’t meant to come to that conclusion. He peeks open his eyes and finds the Great Haroldini looking at him with his chin resting on his hands. Liam can see his face a little better now, and his eyes look soft and his mouth is curled in a small smile. He must understand what Liam’s going through.

“Yeah,” he answers slowly and with compassion. “I think we can do something about that. Follow me.”

He follows Haroldini into yet another room, this one smaller but better lit. Liam gets a better look at him then. He’s tall and lanky, clad in black from head to toe, his very tight jeans at odds with his oversized black shirt and the flowing shawl wrapped around his shoulders. He’s awfully young too, probably younger than Liam, but somehow Liam still trusts him. For now.

A small cauldron sits on a pedestal in the middle of the room, and the Great Haroldini begins poking through a large shelf of ingredients as he explains the plan to Liam.

“I am making you Love Potion No. 9,” he says. “Very powerful, fast acting. One swig of this and you’re guaranteed to kiss the love of your life within twenty-four hours, or your money back.”

“That sounds good,” Liam says. He could get behind that. Kisses means they’re in proximity of Liam. Kisses are nice. He checks his watch. "I only have about seven minutes left, then I have to get back to work."

"You rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles," the Great Haroldini says majestically, opening his arms wide to Liam.

Liam blinks at him. "What?"

"Nevermind," he mumbles, exasperated, and turns back to his shelf.

Liam watches him go for another few minutes, resisting the urge to ask questions.

“Hmm,” Haroldini says, peering a subsection of his ingredients thoughtfully. His hands hover over a couple of different options before he looks toward the bead curtain and bellows, “NIALL! Where’s my book?” He waits, listening intently, but Niall doesn’t answer. “Hmm,” he says again. “Well, I’m pretty sure it’s this one.” He plucks up a bottle of blue liquid and inspects it closely.

“Pretty sure?” Liam asks.

He thinks for a moment. “Reasonably sure.”

“Is that more sure or less sure than pretty sure?”

“Hush, Liam,” he censures sharply and begins pouring things into the cauldron without measuring anything. It doesn’t seem like a particularly precise science. When he finishes pouring the ingredients in, he mumbles a few things and a large puff of lavender smoke erupts from the cauldron, clouding around Liam’s face.

Liam bats the smoke away to see the Great Haroldini carefully ladling the lavender liquid into a little bottle. He stoppers the bottle and presents it to Liam with a grand gesture.

“Thank you,” Liam says, a smile growing on his face. He resists the urge to bow back at him.  “How much?”

“Oh. Uh. That’s usually a Niall thing.” He massages his jaw in thought. “A tenner?”

That seems fair. He pays and Haroldini sends him on his way, telling him with a wink he shouldn’t drink it until after he gets off work. Because once he finds The One, he won’t want to get back to work.

Liam walks down the street back to the tube station, cradling the bottle in his hands and peering down at it with hope and excitement. It’s like he’s literally holding his future in the palm of his hands.

\--

He almost doesn’t do it. He stands in the lobby of his office building, peering out the large glass doors at the crowd of commuters trying to get home. Any of them could be The One. Liam is kind of terrified.

This is what he wants, he reminds himself over and over and he turns the little bottle over in his hands. He’s ready.

“I’m ready for love,” Liam tells himself.

“What was that?” the security guard at the front desk asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” Liam says, without turning to look at him. He uncorks the bottle and tips some of it down his throat. He doesn’t take all of it. The Great Haroldini didn’t say anything about dosage besides "one swig" and Liam realizes he really should have asked. He figures he’ll take some and if it doesn’t work after a little bit, he’ll take the rest.

He pushes open the door and merges into the crowd, trying not to look around expectantly for The One to find him. He should have clarified a little more about the rules. If he sees someone he thinks is The One, should he approach them? Wait for them to approach? Introduce himself? Should he be upfront about their destiny? Will they also know Liam is Their One?

His eyes catch on the eyes of a very fit woman in a trench coat walking towards him. He passes her a friendly smile. Her eyes darken and her strides become purposeful until she marches right up to Liam, clasps his face, and kisses him desperately.

Well, that was fast, Liam thinks. She’s very pretty, so that’s nice. It’s a nice kiss. He just wishes he knew a little more about her before she kissed him. It’s all a little abrupt, but hey, if it’s true love, who is Liam to argue about what order they go in?

She jerks back from him, looking terribly stricken. “Oh my god,” she says, clamping her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry,” she says, muffled, and starts to run away.

“Wait!” Liam calls after, turning to chase after her. It’s going to be quite a conversation explaining that they’re soulmates after that kind of display. Her red trench coat is barely visible in the crowd -- damn, she runs fast, even in those shoes -- and Liam searches desperately for her.

Until he connects eyes with a bloke, about as broad as he is tall, practically threatening to rip out of his vest with the size of his muscles. He grabs Liam firmly by the arms and tilts him into dip, cradling his back. Liam squeals as he lays a big one right on Liam’s lips.

 _Well, this is awkward_ , Liam thinks just before the guy pulls him back up and detaches himself from Liam.

“What the fuck,” the guy spits at Liam, like it’s his fault. Well. Technically it is Liam’s fault. It’s Liam’s potion. But he kissed Liam first.

“Um,” Liam says back. He barely has time to register what’s happening and then he gets socked right in the face. The chin, most specifically, and it sends him down to the concrete. The bottle of Love Potion No. 9 flies from his hand, tinkling a little down the sidewalk before it cracks and shatters, a lavender cloud evaporating with little swirls in the air. Shit.

He doesn’t watch the meaty bloke stomp away and definitely doesn't bother chasing after him. So he has two The Ones? Or are they The Two?

“Are you all right?” a lady says as she kneels next to him. He’s okay, but he appreciates the care. He has no idea how to explain himself.

“Yeah,” Liam says. “Thanks.” She has kind eyes, Liam notes, before she grabs his face and kisses him too.

Liam fights her hands to pull his head away. “Stop stop stop,” he pleads and there’s a couple of moments before she seems to realize what she’s done.

“I kissed you,” she says, a bit dazed.

“You did,” Liam confirms. “I’m sorry. I’m very confused.”

“Me too,” she says, holding his hand so he can steady himself as he rises.

"I took a love potion," he explains as he dusts his pants off. "I think I'm having a bad reaction."

She makes a sympathetic noise and when he looks up at her to thank her, she kisses him again, firm but not intrusive.

"It's your eyes," she says thoughtfully once she's come up for air, looking down at his feet. "When I look at them, I want to kiss you."

"Well," Liam says intelligently, ducking his eyes as well. "Shit."

"Here," she says and pushes a massive pair of sunglasses into his hands. They're the big fancy round ones like famous people wear, the ones that don't allow any peripheral vision. "See if these help. I've really got to go."

"Thank you," he says. He wishes he could look up at her, it's only polite, but he's not taking any more risks. He likes her, but she doesn't feel like The One. Liam assumes he's supposed to feel a change, like a connection is made or lightning strikes or his heart starts pumping faster. Well, really, his heart _is_ pumping faster, but that's probably because he's just been punched right in the face.

"Good luck!" she calls as she sprints away from him.

He slips on the sunglasses and curses his eyes. There's nothing magical about them. They don't sparkle with delight or light up with mischief. They aren't blue. They're just brown.

He can just hear the Great Haroldini's voice echoing in his ears, saying some nonsense about the eyes being the window to the soul and the soul being the root of love.

He should go right back to Coven Tree and demand the Great Haroldini fix this, but he can't. He just wants to go home and hide out until the potion wears off, hopefully by that 24 hour deadline. He thought he was ready for love, but he sure as hell wasn't ready for so much of it.

\--

The sunglasses are complete shit and Liam is kissed thirty-seven more times before he finally reaches the sanctuary of his flat's lobby. They’re very nice sunglasses, which is about all that stops Liam from chucking them onto the ground so hard that they break. He feels terrible, practically on the verge of tears. He just wants to hide in bed with a blanket over his head for the foreseeable future.

"Oi oi!" Louis crows as soon as he sees Liam coming up the stairs. Liam ducks his head immediately. Louis stands in his doorway, like he's been waiting for Liam, only that can't be the reason because he wouldn't just wait around for Liam. "Leemo, you'll never guess who I met at the mailboxes today."

Liam absolutely cannot handle the idea of Louis kissing him because of this. It won't be sweet or romantic or even mutual, which is really the most important part. He’d rather be kissed by a thousand more strangers than force Louis to kiss him. It'll just ruin everything forever.

So maybe Liam should let Louis kiss him, if only because it'll destroy Liam's crush. And rip his heart into a thousand tiny pieces.

"I dunno," Liam mumbles, quickly trying to dig his keys in his pocket.

"You have to guess, that's part of the fun.”

"The prime minister?"

"Why the bloody fuck would the prime minister be at our mailboxes, Liam?"

Liam's hands shake too much to be useful, he can't even get his fingers to the right key on his key ring as Louis blathers on. It turns out he thinks he’s met one of their randy neighbors at long last, but Liam can’t focus on what is surely an amusing anecdote. Why oh why does Liam have so many bleeding keys, honestly, he's only got the one door. He drops his keys on the floor and swears, swooping to pick them up quickly when he can see out of the corner of his eye, Louis' bare feet twitching like he's about to come help.

"Look, Louis, I'm sorry, I've really got to go," he blurts and finally gets into his flat, slamming the door behind him.

He isn’t lucky enough that Louis gets the hint, because he pounds on Liam’s door and shouts through the wood.

“Liam, what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry,” Liam tells the door. “I’m, um, I’m not feeling very well.”

“Open the door,” Louis demands, knocking a little more for good measure, it seems.

“I’m just going to go to bed, we’ll talk tomorrow.” Liam turns in circles, wringing his hands, certain Louis can’t actually be fought off, and he’s right. Because he didn’t actually lock the door, because he didn’t _actually_ think Louis would just open the door and let himself in, but he does. Liam slaps his hands over his eyes immediately.

“What’s going on?” Louis asks before pausing. “What’s happened to your face?”

“Very funny,” Liam says and he would roll his eyes if they weren’t pressed shut. Or maybe he can roll his eyes when they’re closed. He’s never tried. “Nothing’s happened, I was just born with this face.”

“No,” Louis says as he delicately places his fingers on Liam’s chin to tilt his face up. Liam tries not to feel a thrill. “Has somebody punched you in the face?”

Liam feels a blush crowding his face at the attention. “A little bit,” he admits.

“I’ll kill them,” Louis says promptly. “Give me their name and address.”

“Louis, no,” Liam says, probably not at all secretly pleased. “It was my fault.”

“Shut up, no, it wasn’t,” Louis says with so much confidence Liam actually forgets for a moment that Louis wasn’t there. Thank god Louis wasn’t there. “Honestly, Liam, what are you doing with your hands? What’s gotten into you? You’re being so weird.”

Liam’s grip on his face holds firm even though Louis tugs at his hands. Louis sighs deeply, his face no doubt wrenched with irritation and impatience. He doesn’t know, though. He doesn’t know Liam is doing him the best favor he’ll ever do. He can hear Louis moving around his flat, vaguely registering the familiar sound of the refrigerator door opening, and he’s startled by the sudden feeling of cold plastic to his bruised jaw and Louis’ arm brushing against his.

“Is that a bag of peas?” Liam asks, frowning as best as he can.

“Let’s have a seat, you absolute tit,” Louis says, putting his other hand on Liam’s shoulder and it’s just too much. Louis is being weirdly considerate and he’s touching Liam gently and Liam feels like he’s going to explode out of his skin.

“I just think it’s for the best if you go,” Liam mumbles.

“Why?” Louis asks and he sounds hurt. Liam wants to look at him, to reassure him that he hasn’t done anything wrong. “Why do you keep trying to send me away?”

"I've just had a really terrible day and really bad things keep happening to me,” Liam says like he can’t keep it in anymore. And he can’t, really, he’s just going to lose it if he keeps it inside anymore. “Like I'm being assaulted but not like assaulted, no one's like hitting me -- other than that one bloke, I guess -- and sometimes it's quite pleasant, but I really can't take it anymore. None of it means anything this way. I'm just going to hide away here until death or, like, the potion runs its course, you know, whichever one comes first.”

“What?” Louis asks quietly, more like it was to himself than actually at Liam.

“And that's just terrible because it means I won't be able to see you anymore,” Liam continues. “Literally because I can't look at people without them wanting to attack me. And I promise it's not a reflection on you or on our relationship, because I like you, Louis, fuck, I really do, more than I should. It's just I couldn't take it if I made you do something you didn't want to do. So I must ask you to please leave now. I'm sorry I can't show you to the door, but I have to keep my eyes closed."

He really wishes he was allowed to look at Louis' face. He misses looking at it, which is absurd, but he wasn't lying. He really will miss Louis' face. And his thighs. And his arms. And his arse. And his hair. And his eyes. And everything about him. But mostly his face.

It's almost like Louis is reading his mind when Liam can feel his thin fingers finally peel away Liam’s hands where they cover his eyes. Luckily Liam has squeezed his eyes firmly shut. He knows what he's doing.

"Liam, look at me," Louis says calmly. He's taking this all rather well, considering.

"No."

"Look at me."

Liam feels the bag of peas leave his face. "I can't."

"Please. Liam," Louis says, his voice curling gently around his name in a way Liam has never heard from him before. It startles him so much he does as Louis asks.

Their eyes connect -- Liam was right to miss Louis' sharp and clear blue eyes, they're truly spectacular. Louis looks at him like he's appraising him, and Liam hopes for a positive review.

Then Louis leans in, slow enough for Liam to stop him in time, but Liam doesn't because he wants it so much, he wants to kiss Louis and never stop.

The kiss Louis presses to his lips is hesitant, short, practically chaste, which just won't do. Liam's hand traitorously finds its way to the back of Louis' neck and pulls him forward so Liam can give Louis the best kiss of his life.

Liam sighs against Louis' lips, curling his fingers through his hair. Louis crowds up against him and licks into his mouth possessively. He drops the bag of peas right on the floor in favor of putting his hands on Liam and Liam doesn’t even care. It’s electric, like every inch of Liam is buzzing as they click together. It’s the longest kiss Liam’s had all day, it really is the best kiss he’s had his whole life, and -- wait a minute.

"No," Liam says suddenly, pulling himself away from Louis and looking away from him. Shit shit shit. He’s ruined everything. Here it comes. Louis is going to wake up to his normal non-kissing self in a second and realize what Liam’s done to him and he’s probably going to lose it.

"No? Ah, fuck," Louis says, covering his mouth in distress for a moment. He starts to back away, looking hideously embarrassed. "I'm sorry, god, I thought -- well, I thought you wanted -- I'm sorry, I must have misread the signals."

"No," Liam says quickly, wanting more than anything to look Louis firmly in the eye so he can see just how much Liam wants him. He just doesn't want Louis this way, affected by a shit potion, against his will. "I'm arse over bloody tits for you, but you don’t really want me. This is just the potion talking."

Louis blinks at him. "I'm sorry, the what?"

"You have to go before you're forced to do something you'll regret," Liam says, putting his hands to Louis' shoulders and marching him to the door.

“Liam, stop,” Louis says, trying to resist, but Liam’s stronger than him. Liam closes the door swiftly behind Louis, but not before seeing Louis swivel to stare at Liam with a look of absolute confusion and a little bit of hurt. He locks the door just to be sure.

Liam whines, long, loud, and pitiful, swooping to pick up the bag of peas just to throw it against the wall. The bag pops upon impact and the tiny green peas bounce everywhere, covering the floor, just asking Liam to step on one of them and go sliding, arms windmilling, until he drops on his arse, like a bloody cartoon.

Liam whines at the peas as well with an accusatory point before sighing deeply and grabbing a broom and dustpan to clean them up.

First thing tomorrow morning, he’s going straight back to Coven Tree and he’s going to sort this out. He’s going to fix himself and then he’s going to fix things with Louis. And if he doesn’t get this all sorted by lunch, he’s going to… well, he’s going to blow up the Great Haroldini’s Yelp page with a very strongly worded review. Or something.

\--

Luckily for Liam, most of the city seems to be asleep at eight am on a Saturday morning, so he’s only kissed by sixteen people on the trip to Notting Hill. He’s getting pretty good at ducking out of the way until people come to their senses and don’t want to kiss him anymore. It’s sort of like a game. Like Frogger, except he’s not dodging cars, he’s dodging affection from strangers.

He raps insistently on the door to Coven Tree forever. The hours aren’t posted anywhere, but at this point he isn’t leaving until Haroldini puts him right.

“Haroldini, please, I need your help,” he shouts.

“Liam?” a voice calls from behind him. It’s Haroldini walking down the street with the Irish man, who Liam thinks is called Niall. Niall carries a tray of drinks and a bag of pastries, but not for long, because as soon as he meets Liam’s eyes, he drops everything to come for him.

“Oh,” the Great Haroldini mourns, frowning down at his spilled coffee and pastries.

At just the last second, Liam pops his hand over his own mouth and Niall’s lips come crashing onto it, laying a big one right on the back of his hand. Once Niall’s had his fill of Liam’s hand, he pops back, the spell broken.

Liam silently curses himself for not thinking about covering his mouth last night. People need to kiss him, but the rules weren't very clear on where. Who fucking knew? He drops his eyes immediately to the floor, holding a hand up to shield himself against Niall like he would shield himself from the sun.

“Um, good morning,” Niall tells Liam lightly. Liam can vaguely see him turn to Haroldini with wide eyes. “What have you done?”

“It’s Niall?” Haroldini says, turning his frown up to them, where it belongs. “Niall’s your The One?”

“Yeah,” Liam scoffs. He’s too impatient for kindness and he eyes Haroldini’s torso warily, waiting for him to pounce at any moment. Even though he’s already connected eyes with him and nothing’s happened yet. “Him and about fifty-seven other people. I’m sorry to tell you this, mate, but your potion’s shit.”

Niall lets them all into the shop, guiding Liam back to the back room to sit in the plush crimson chair to tell his story. He keeps his eyes glued very firmly to the floor as he tells them about the nice people and the not so nice people and about how he’s possibly ruined his relationship with his best mate. How he feels terrible to have basically terrorized fifty-seven people and how used he feels. How he’s always sort of wanted to be one of those people who are magnetic, that lots of people are attracted to, but he didn’t want it like this.

“Fuck me,” Haroldini says slowly as soon as Liam wraps up.

“What’d you put in that potion?” Niall asks.

“I dunno, I thought it was the standard stuff? I can’t remember,” Haroldini says. “Do you still have the bottle?”

“It shattered, it’s all gone,” Liam answers.

“It shattered?” Haroldini says, deeply offended. “I worked very hard on that.”

“It wasn’t my fault, was it? Some bloke decked me in the face,” Liam snaps, pointing at his bruised chin.

“I don’t know how to make the antidote if I don’t know the ingredients. That’s Phase Three Wizardry. I’ve only just passed the test for Phase Two.”

“Harry,” Niall says gently.

He groans in response. “Noooo. Niall. Please.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Niall says. “You’re going to have to call him.”

“You call him,” Haroldini pouts back at him.

“You fucked this up, you call him,” Niall responds, unimpressed.

“But he’s going to be disappointed in me and he’s going to give me that look.” Haroldini groans, sounding very put upon, and lifts a hand over the crystal ball. Then he pulls out his phone and sends a text message.

Five seconds later a new bloke appears out of thin air -- tall, windswept, gorgeous, livid. Liam stares openly at him, forgetting for just a moment that he shouldn't. The stranger stares back and then makes a lunge for him.

Liam squeezes his eyes firmly shut just after Niall and The Great Haroldini begin to restrain the man from a kiss attack.

"Zayn," Haroldini says. "Zayn, look at me."

There's a pause and then the stranger called Zayn starts shouting. "What the fuck was that? I was about to kiss this stranger against my will," he pauses and adds, "no offense."

"None taken," Liam says promptly.

"Harry, what the fuck have you done?" Liam imagines Zayn must be giving him That Look.

"Why's it always something I've done?" Haroldini -- Harry? -- squawks.

"When's it not something you've done?" Niall intones.

“It’s a love potion, isn’t it?” Zayn asks. “I told you to stop playing around in that kind of thing.”

“It’s not that bad,” Harry says. “I think it’d be quite nice to get lots of kisses.”

“You say that now,” Zayn says blandly. “Get him something for his face so Niall and I don’t attack him.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

In the next second a scarf is tossed at Liam’s face and falls into his lap. Liam ties it around his face very carefully. Better safe than sorry. It’s quite nice. Silky.

Zayn sets about fixing up Liam an antidote, or so Liam assumes because nobody actually tells him what’s going on. There’s a general hustle and bustle going on, sounds being made, voices murmuring, debating strategies. Niall says more than a few times, “Just don’t fucking touch anything, Harry. Please.” Once Liam swears someone comes up and sniffs him, just a good deep inhale, but he can’t prove it.

"How did you find this one?" Zayn says at one point.

Liam pauses, unsure who he's asking. He wishes he could see.

"I'm talking to you, Liam," Zayn adds, accompanied by the sounds of bustling and glass tinkling.

"Oh. Google," Liam answers.

Zayn sighs deeply and Liam can imagine he's massaging his temples. "Harry, have you been bewitching Google to drum up sales again?"

"What are you even talking about," Harry says lightly and he clearly knows what Zayn's talking about. "I don't even know what search engine optimization means."

Even Liam’s rolling his eyes at that one.

“Niall,” Zayn warns.

“I know I know,” Niall grumbles. “I’ll watch him a little closer.”

Harry makes an indignant noise and Liam continues to wait patiently, his hands folded in his lap, just a little while longer. He hears a little puffing sound and something light brushes against his face. He assumes it’s like the cloud of whatever that was from yesterday.

His heart picks up beating a little faster at the knowledge that all his problems are about to be solved. Hopefully. He trusts this Zayn bloke, but that’s also what he thought about Harry yesterday and look where that got him.

“Okay,” Zayn says at last. “Who’s testing?”

“I’ll do it,” Harry answers.

“You’re immune to your own magic,” Niall says grumpily. “Don’t volunteer to be a hero when you know you’re just going to be disqualified.”

“That hurts me, Niall.”

“Fine,” Zayn groans. He presses a glass into Liam’s hand and Liam throws it all back quickly, even ready to offer to lick the glass if it means the potion is going to work that much better. They all wait with bated breath for a few moments until suddenly the scarf is ripped from Liam’s face and Zayn’s peering directly into Liam’s eyes. Nothing, thankfully, happens.

“Fancy a snog?” Liam asks him.

“Not in the slightest,” Zayn says. “No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Legend!” Niall laughs, throwing his hands up in a cheer. “Well done, Zayner.”

Liam looks up at Harry and Niall for good measure, holding eye contact with each of them until he’s sure they’re not going to come for him either. He appears to be cured. He would take a victory lap if he could, soliciting high fives from everyone. But he’s just too relieved and too tired to do much more than smile at them.

He’s ushered back into the lobby and they linger under the tree, hesitating like none of them know how to put that final capstone on this truly horrendous adventure.

“No chance I’m getting that tenner back, is it?” Liam asks with a smile.

“What do you mean?” Harry responds, quirking his eyebrows up.

“I’m guaranteed to kiss the love of my life within twenty-four hours. Seeing’s how I kissed half of London, I’m not entirely sure that guarantee holds up,” Liam says.

“But you did,” Zayn says.

Liam blinks at him. “What?”

“You did kiss them,” Harry confirms. “It’s all over your aura.”

“What?” Liam panics, pulling at his hair and pacing absently. “Who was it? How do I find them?”

He doesn’t have time to go track down those fifty-six strangers (although he can definitely narrow out that guy who decked him, so fifty-five, really). He doesn’t even remember what half of them look like.

Harry's looking at him like he's crazy and his mouth opens to say something.

“Can’t tell you that,” Zayn interrupts. “It’s not supposed to work that way.” He throws a pointed look to Harry. “But you’d know. It feels different.”

Liam thinks back on each of the kisses he’s received. They were all pretty much run of the mill, little two second things followed by immense regret and discomfort and a sincere apology. Liam’s never apologized so much in his life, and that’s including the one time he actually set a little piece of his sister’s hair on fire.

But then there was Louis. Louis’ kiss was thorough and perfect and, well, really fucking hot. It was different, too. Louis had leaned in slowly, he hadn’t attacked Liam like the others. And fuck, he’d said he was reading signals. And Louis was embarrassed not because he wasn’t in control of his actions, but because he thought Liam didn’t want it.

Louis, who was happy to cuddle into Liam yesterday morning. Louis, who takes the time to make sure Liam leaves his flat and lives a life. Louis, who opens the door before Liam even knocks on it. Louis, who secretly watches Liam do things. Louis, who was reading signals and finally realized Liam has been giving him the go ahead.

“I’m such a fucking donut,” Liam mumbles to himself as everything clicks into place. It’s Louis. Of course it’s fucking Louis.

“You said it, not me,” Harry answers, pushing Liam to the door and opening it for him. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Liam?” Zayn calls just as Liam’s about to walk through the door.

“Yeah?” Liam turns back to look them all in the eyes once more. Niall gives him a thumbs up and Harry smiles dopily at him. Even Zayn's quirking a smile.

“Never take a love potion again, okay?”

“I won’t,” Liam promises with a grin. “Hopefully I shouldn’t need to.”

\--

Liam takes his trip back home with a skip in his step and he practically forces eye contact with almost every person he passes, as if to say Look at us! Looking at each other! Like normal people! No kissing! Isn’t it lovely?

Louis isn’t waiting at his door for Liam when Liam bounces up the stairs, which makes sense. Liam bolts into his own flat, moving quickly for his bedroom wall. He knocks three times and waits. And waits. And waits.

He’s about to give up when the responding knocks finally come in. He beams, shooting right back out of his flat to Louis’.

Louis opens the door and one of his hands is pressed to his eyes. It somehow manages to look like a sarcastic move without Louis even saying anything. He looks sleep rumpled, and god, Liam really loves morning Louis.

Liam tugs at Louis’ hand until it falls away and reveals his eyes. Liam looks very firmly into them. “I’m sorry,” is the first thing that Liam says, one last apology before he thinks he can move forward.

“For what exactly?” Louis says, squinting at him dubiously. “I admit I am still extremely confused.”

“I took a love potion and it was making everyone I made eye contact with kiss me without their control,” Liam explains quickly, waving his hand like he doesn’t want to focus on the particulars. “And I didn’t want that to be our first kiss. If we were ever going to have one, that is. I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t take that from you.”

“Oh,” Louis says, looking a little bewildered until he thinks about it and adds a softer, “Oh.”

“It’s been a very complicated twenty-four hours,” Liam says.

Louis nods slowly, his eyebrows raised in sympathy. Then the sympathy disappears completely and is replaced by a scowl. “Why on earth did you take a love potion?”

Liam hesitates, panicking just a little before he can let the truth out. “Because I was a little in love with you and you didn’t want me back,” he blurts quickly, “which is fine, honestly, like no pressure, but I just needed to get over you and find someone who’d love me back.”

Louis stares at him for a moment, a look of absolute disbelief. His silence terrifies Liam, but it’s gone in a flash.

“That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard you say, and I’ve heard some real whoppers,” Louis snaps, slapping at Liam’s chest with irritation. He doesn’t stop until Liam captures his hands. Liam doesn’t let them go. “Remember Pompeii?”

“You said you’d never mention that again,” Liam complains. What a hideous betrayal of trust.

“Well, I lied, didn’t I?” Louis says haughtily and looks up at Liam expectantly.

It takes a second for the implication of the rest of what Louis said fall into place.

“You think it’s stupid that I think that you don’t want me?” Liam pauses, mentally checking if he said that right. He doesn't want to blurt out, "Do you like me like me?" or something else suitably embarrassing.

“Of course it is, I’ve been trying to get you to ask me out for weeks,” Louis says, his face pinching into a grumpy frown as he pulls his hands from Liam’s to cross his arms with disdain. “Do you really think I care about the sex lives of the nymphos upstairs? I’ve just been trying to talk to you.”

“Oh,” Liam says simply as a smile grows steadily on his face. “Louis, may I please kiss you?” Liam asks. He wants Louis to be primed and ready, consent given, no surprises, no takesies backsies. It’ll be a refreshing change.

“Yeah, fucking get on with -- ” Louis starts, but Liam cuts him off, tugging him closer and pressing his lips firmly to Louis’. So maybe a little bit of surprises.

He does feel a difference, so Zayn was right there. Louis slowly unfolds his arms to grip at Liam's neck and hip and everywhere they connect, it feels like electricity. A steady hum of power that has Liam confident enough to back Louis into his flat and kick the door shut behind him.

Louis rewards him for his valor by tracing a path up Liam's jaw, trading kisses and bites until his face is in Liam's hair.

“Let’s wake the neighbors,” he says, his lips brushing Liam’s ears.

"Yes, please," Liam chants over and over as they stumble blindly, still wrapped together, toward Louis' bedroom. And every time he kisses Louis he thinks Love Potion No. 9 might be the greatest thing that's ever happened to him. Well. Second greatest.

\----

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you need me, I'm [ here.](http://wickershire.tumblr.com/post/115157828158/love-potion-no-9-liam-louis) :D  
> Take care!  
> 


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